The Bigger they are, The Hardyer They Fall
by RRatedauthor
Summary: What happens when tragedy turns to love? I wish I knew! Contains, language, reference to sexual situations, and possible slash in later chapters!
1. Chapter 1

I killed his brother and now I'm falling in love with him... what the hell is going on...?

The character of Eric Stryker belongs to me... all others are copyright WWE inc. I make no claims regarding the lifestyles of any characters portrayed here, except my oc.

Chapter one:

All my life I have been a fan of pro wrestling. Ever since I saw Hulk Hogan slam Andre the Giant at Wrestlemania 3, I 've been hooked. So when the chance to become like the men I idolized growing up presented itself, I jumped at it. I paid my dues in the minor leagues for a couple years, and then I received a phone call that changed my life...

Saturday, November 29, 2008 5:20 pm

"Hello?" I picked up the receiver. Not recognizing the number, I assumed it was either a telemarketer or a wrong number. How wrong I was.

"I have Vince McMahon for Eric Stryker. Please hold." My first inclination was to hang up, figuring that someone was playing a joke on me. It wouldn't have been the first time that ole Eric was fooled. Around the CPW locker room, I had the reputation of being somewhat gullible, but that was my way of not letting people get too close to me. I had always lived by the credo "the less they know, the less they can hurt me" and so far it had worked.

"Mr. Stryker?" A voice I had grown up listening to snapped me out of my daydream. It was him.

"Uh Vin... Mr McMahon..." I had to check myself. After all, this was my future employer (or so I hoped) that I was talking to. Can't get too familiar right away. "It's a pleasure to talk to you..." I knew it sounded cheesy, but how do you start a conversation with someone when you already know why they are calling??? I still haven't figured that one out folks.

A slight chuckle at the other end. Apparently he'd heard this before.

"Mr. Stryker... Before I go on, is that your real name or a gimmick?"

"I assure you, Sir, it's real." (Like I'd change my name to something that sounded like I made adult films!)

"Interesting. Anyway, the reason I am calling is, as you know, WWE is always looking for talent. Our ECW brand is not doing as well as we had hoped and we figure that maybe bringing in some new blood might pick things up."

"Understandable, sir." I had watched the "new" ECW a bit and I was not impressed. "But why me... surely there are some more proven names out there." Images of Rob Van Dam, the Dudley boys, among others danced across my brain.

"Agreed. But we want something fresh... bring some new fans to the game or bring back some of the die-hard ECW fans..."

"And where do I fit in to this?" I asked. My reputation as a hardcore wrestler was, to put it briefly, non-existant. I specialized in a more grounded attack. I can take a chair shot no problem, but barbed-wire matches were not exactly why I became a wrestler in the first place.

"Our creative department has a few ideas and I was wondering if you'd be interested in coming to our headquarters and meeting with us."

"Sure." I answered, like a meeting with Vince McMahon was something I did in my spare time. In reality, my heart was beating so fast, I'm sure he could've heard it all the way in Connecticut. "I'm not promising anything though."

"I expect no less. If there's a fit, fine. If not today, maybe another time. When would be convenient for you?"

"My schedule is a little open right now." I wondered if he knew that I was on hiatus from my promotion for calling the promoter a cheap fuck.

"Oh...?"

I hoped I hadn't blown it. "I took some time off for, um, personal reasons..."

"I believe the expression was a cheap fuck." Damn, Vince had talked to my boss!

"Well..."

"I assure you that I am not a cheap fuck..." Vince chuckled "Can you make tomorrow at around five o'clock?"

"Sure, Mr. McMahon. I will be there."

"Thank-you Mr Stryker. We look forward to meeting with you."

I hung up the phone, my heart still racing. This was my chance to prove everyone who said I was making a mistake wrong. I called the airport and immediately started making flight plans.

***

Sunday, November 30: 4:30 p.m.

Arriving half-an-hour early for my appointment, I had time to scope out Titan towers, the offices of World Wrestling Entertainment. Despite it being a Sunday, there was much activity going on. I guess since the wrestlers don't have off-seasons, why would the office staff, eh?

While I waited, I looked around the lobby, with it's myriad of posters of WWE stars, past and present, and wondered if someday I might rate mention in the same sentence as the Rock, Stone Cold, or even the Immortal Hulk.

I pulled a copy of the New York Times out of my bag and was just starting to flip through it, when I heard "Mr Stryker? Mr McMahon will see you now."

Trying to seem nonchalant, even though my heart and my adam's apple had just changed positions, I followed the scretary deep into the inner offices. I'm sure everyone I passed figured I was just another dumb wrestler looking for a job, but I was determined to make a good impression. Okay, so I was wearing blue jeans with a tuxedo-style jacket, but I never claimed to know anything about fashion.

"Just go on in."

"Don't worry. He can't fire you... he hasn't hired you yet." My brain kept telling me while my feet told me to turn and flee. Fortunately, the head won out and I entered the private office of Mr. Vincent Kennedy McMahon.

"Mr. McMahon?" My voice cracked. Dammit... of all the time to go through puberty again, it had to be now!

He looked up, probably wondering who this guy who looked like an out-of-work bingo caller was.

"Eric Stryker. We talked yesterday." Thankfully, my voice dropped down two octaves.

"Mr Stryker... thank-you for coming on such short notice. I think you'll like what we have in mind for you."

The rest of the meeting was (and still is) a blur. I nodded in what I hoped were all the right places, and said what I hoped were all the right things.

"So what we'd like to do is send you down to Ohio Valley for a couple weeks, just to get you back on track since you have been out of the ring for a while."

I wondered what else my soon-to-be ex-boss had told him.

"Whatever you think is appropriate, sir." I replied

"Here's a contract for you. Have a lawyer look it over, and if you have any problems, please call the office. If not, I'll call Tom (Pritchard) and tell him to expect you on Monday. Any questions?:"

"Not on my end."

"There is one other thing. while we do consider ourselves a family, we'd prefer it if you didn't hit on your co-workers right away. That goes for the women as well."

I was in the process of reminding myself to do some emergency dental work on my former promoter when I realized that this was Vince's idea of a joke.

"I'll try, sir, but that Jeff Hardy is just too damn cute." I answered

We both laughed and I knew that I was going to enjoy working here.

Monday, December 15 Noon.

I just got a call from Vince today. Seems like the refresher course I was taking in Ohio Valley was just that. According to what I remember... talking to Vince seems to give me acute amnesia, I must remember to have that checked out sometime. Apparently, they want me to fly to Philadelphia right away for an ECW house show. They don't want me to wrestle, but they do want to meet the guys and get a feel for how, according to the faxes I got from creative, my character development is going to begin.

Driving up to the arena, I'll be damned if I wasn't met by the aformentioned damn cutie himself.

"Eric?"

He was even better-looking in person. I'll be the first to admit, I always considered myself straight, but I also believed that there was nothing wrong with window shopping as long as I kept my Visa in my pants.

"That's my name, don't wear it out." Not the nicest way to greet a member of the brotherhood, but what the hell.

"Vince asked me to meet you."

Amazing how the formality goes out the window when the boss isn't around, isn't it?

"Cool." I grabbed my luggage from the trunk. Even though I wasn't wrestling, I still brought my ring gear with me just in case. "I didn't know you'd been swapped over."

"I'm not. I got a couple days off so I'm spending some time with my bro." he replied

"Oh." Keeping track of who was on what brand was proving to be more of a challenge that I'd originally thought.

"Yeah, you're gonna be working a program with him once you get started." Jeff said

I nodded. I was back in my own world, the excitement of the past two weeks was sending me into sensory overload. Like my earlier meeting with Vince, I nodded serenely in the right spots until we reached the arena.

"Do you really think I'm cute?" Jeff asked suddenly

"I see the grapevine is alive and well in this company too." I tried not to look embarrassed.

"No big whoop."

"I'm straight if it means anything." I covered my ass quickly, but apparently not convincingly.

"Who you trying to convince... me or yourself." The rainbow-haired warrior looked over at me, a grin I recognized from years of watching him on Raw adorning his face.

"I only have two rules Jeff. I don't fuck my friends and I don't fish off the company dock."

Jeff nodded.

"If I wanted to get ahead quickly, I'd fuck Triple H, not you."

We both laughed. I was definitely going to enjoy working here.

Eight p.m.

So, I just finished by unofficial first night with the company. Unofficial in the sense that I wasn't on the roster, but I still ended up in the ring. As it turned out, CM Punk missed his flight, so they needed someone to fill in. Which basically meant that by the time they realized he wasn't going to make his match with Big Daddy V, I had five minutes to get ready. There are a lot of things I can do in five minutes, but changing and putting together a decent match was not one of them. So, I ended up doing two things out of character... one was wrestling in my street clothes (sans jacket) and two, letting a big black man have his way with me. The correct term is "talent enhancement", but that night, "bump dummy" was more appropriate. I got maybe one or two moves in before getting slammed, squashed, and summarily defeated.

While I showered, I did some thinking, which is not something I do very often. In fact, I avoid it whenever possible.

Not wanting to have to drive back to my hotel in my wrestling gear, I hoped that my civvies didn't smell too badly, which they didn't. Not that I minded being seen in public in my trunks. Hell, I'd done it before and with the exception of one night in Tijuana which I won't go into, nothing bad had ever happened.

"Nice match."

I did my impression of the people's eyebrow at the speaker. "You still here?"

"Matt wants a word when you've changed."

"Five minutes."

"Cool." Jeff's gaze lingered on me before he walked away. Was the guy sizing me up or was there something more to it? From what I knew about him, he was a free spirit, but hopefully he wasn't that free. Thankfully my Visa was maxed.

Tuesday Dec 16, 3:00 a.m.

"Oh, man, why did I drink so much?" I groaned. Some of the guys had gone to a club after the show and had invited me. I did not want to alienate my new co-workers right away so, against my better judgement, I joined them. I know what you're thinking... "What a lightweight!' It's true... I've never been one to pound back the drinks, just ask my two ex-wives, but sometimes a guy's gotta go what a guy's gotta do and hope he doesn't make a spectacle of himself.

"I told you to stop after twelve." Getting reprimanded by Tommy Dreamer was not something I had planned to do before I died, but I mentally crossed it off my bucket list anyway.

"Listen you," I slurred "I can handle my liquor." And promptly threw up on the pavement, my shoes, and a nearby fire hydrant. Hey, if dogs can mark their territory, so can I.

"You sure you're gonna be okay. You gotta plane to catch tomorrow. Big Debut." He said

"You wanna tell me why I'm doing a TLC match against Matt Hardy. Seems like overkill to start our feud that way." I slurred. Even drunk, it didn't make too much sense.

."Beats the shit outta me. You agreed to it." Dreamer answered, propping me against the door to my hotel room. "You gonna be okay?"

"I can handle it." I answered, lying my ass off. "See ya later."

9:24 a.m.

So, reader, after that last entry, you've learned two things about me... one; I CAN'T hold my liquor and two, I can't lie very well. I guess I couldn't fool Tommy either 'coz the fool just woke me up. So here I am, staring at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, wondering what the hell I was thinking getting into the sauce with guys last night.

Anyhow, I'm off to the arena.

10:25 p.m.

Crappy flight, crappy movie, crappy seat companions. This was one part of the job I was not going to like if this continued. Was there something about a disheveled, bleary-eyed, hungover person that made everyone want to be my friend? Even worse that that was the girl sitting next to me recognized me from the show last night and felt the need to go over my match blow by blow. When I told her that I was just filling in for Punk, she went off on another tangent and went into graphic detail about what she'd like to do to him if she ever got him alone. Some of them did sound interesting, but when whips and whipped cream came into the picture, I had to shudder.

"I don't think straight-edge includes that." I answered. My headache was back.

"That's just a gimmick." She replied "I'll just bet he drinks, and smokes like the rest of you."

"Couldn't tell you." I replied, looking for the flight attendant for some aspirin. "Never met the guy."

Fortunately I was able to get some aspirin and tried to get some rest, but my dreams were haunted by both the turbulence and visions of a naked CM Punk covered in whipped cream. I told you I'm straight, right?

Wednesday December 17 1 p.m.

Thankfully, I got some sleep back at my hotel once the flight landed and no, there were no dreams about CM Punk. What I really should've done is waited until I got to the arena to go over the match with Matt. But here he is, banging on my hotel room door. Please God, no little brother. I have enough questions about my sanity without questioning my sexuality too.

When I opened the door, Matt was alone. "Halleluia" I sighed

"Did I interrupt your prayers?" I realized Matt had heard me and tried to come up with some excuse. Nothing came to mind so a simple "No big." was my response.

"C'mon in, Matt. Don't mind the mess."

"This is clean compared to livin' with my brother. You should see how he kept his place."

"I guess the fire was a good thing???" Out of place, yes. I hoped Matt didn't take offense easily.

He snickered, to my relief, "Dude's livin' with me while they rebuild."

"I hope you have a good maid."

"So how do you see this match going?" Matt asked, after refusing my offer of a drink or ordering room service.

"I was hoping you could maybe tell me." I answered, "This sort of match is new to me."

"Okay." Matt answered "Maybe I will take you up on that drink. We got a lot of work to do."

8 p.m.

Matt and I arrived at the arena together after stopping to grab Jeff at his hotel. I rode in the back seat, hoping that Jeff would take the hint and sit up front with his big brother. I really needed to relax before my first match. It all seemed so surreal, but little did I know how surreal things would become. Unfortunately, my surreality was shattered when Jeff decided to sprawl out in the back seat. I'm sot sure how to describe how it feels having a twenty-something use your lap for a pillow. (No Visa reference here, folks!)

"If you don't move your head, I'm gonna sic Stryker version 2.0 on you." Obvious copyright infringement, but what the hell. Matt wasn't saying nothing.

"Sorry." He moved slightly, but not slightly enough for my tastes. While his head no longer rested on my nether regions, it was cutting off the flow of blood to my leg.

"How do you get him off your lap?" I asked the driver

He didn't bat an eyelash. "Punch him in the groin." Matt replied

"Cool." I balled up my fist and swung downward, hoping that Jeff would take the hint. I'm not sure if Jeff thought I was fooling him or what, but he didn't move until after my fist made contact with his balls. He was off me like a shot.

"What the fuck was that for?" He groaned, cupping his bruised manhood.

"I told you to move." I smirked

"That hurt!" He continued to whine.

"We're almost there. Get someone to kiss it better when we get to the arena." I leaned back in the seat, trying to focus on my match.

"You volunteering?" Jeff had a way of completely derailing my train of thought and it was starting to get on my nerves.

At that moment, part of me wanted to pound the smile off of his face and part of me wanted to, indeed, kiss it better.

"Jeffro, leave him alone." Matt chided him.

I sniggered at the use of Jeff's pet name. More ammunition for me.

"We're here."

"Finally." I pushed Jeff out of the car ahead of me and swung my legs over the other side. By the way, did I mention I was hard? Freakin' rainbow-haired twerp!

Thursday December 18, 2 a.m.

I have been pacing back and forth for hours in the corridor of the hospital, still trying to comprehend what the hell went wrong just a few hours ago. One minute, Matt Hardy and I are in the middle of an awesome tables, ladders, and chairs match, and the next thing I remember is.... what?

Okay, brain, try to remember what happened. According to the carefully rehearsed plan, Matt was supposed to attempt a Twist of Fate, which I was supposed to block, which I did and flung Matt on top of a ladder. Okay, so Matt's lying on the ladder, doing his best impression of a wounded duck and I think I grabbed one of the chairs provided to us. Can't have a TLC match without the C, right?

Anyway, I line him up to "nail" his face into the ladder with the chair or so that's how it was supposed to go. I didn't count on the little fucker moving his head at the last minute! Instead of bouncing the chair off the side of the ladder (and making it look like I just hit him flush), I nailed him right in the face. Normally, this would not be a problem, but the way the ladder was positioned, his head whiplashed against the top of the ladder. I swear the entire arena heard the snap. I looked over at refereee Scott Armstrong who assumed this was part of the show.

I don't remember a whole lot after that and now I'm walking the corridor of the hospital, praying to whatever Gods I can that Matt's gonna be alright. I stop outside the door to his room and listen carefully. I can hear several voices, the only recognizable one being Matt's frantic brother. Christ, he's the last person I want to deal with right now. Not having any siblings of my own, I can only imagine what the guy is going through. I figure the best thing for me is to get the hell out of dodge ASAP and hope things are gonna work out.

Monday December 21, 7 p.m.

I guess you may be wondering what I'm doing at a taping of RAW. If it were up to me, I would be anywhere else right now. The last four days have been stressful for everyone at WWE, especially me. First match and I cripple a guy. What else could go wrong??? Well, I'll tell you. I thought that we were all being assembled for an update on Matt, but the second Vince McMahon entered our locker room, I knew the worst was coming.

"Could I have your attention please?"

Even when he was not "Mr. McMahon", he could still silence a room with his presence.

Everyone quieted down, though some of us (me) hadn't said two words since the accident.

"On behalf of the Hardy family, I'd like to thank you all for your letters and E-Mails of concern. However, it is with a deep heart that I have to inform you that at 1:45 a.m. today, the decision was made to take Matt off of life support. He passed away shortly thereafter. All of this week's shows will be dedicated to Matt and anyone who wishes to say a few words will be able to do so. Thank-you."

So Vince leaves, and it seemed like hours before any sound was heard, despite the locker room containing over 100 bodies. You know how it feels when you get hit in the stomach and all the air rushes out of you? Multiply that by ten thousand and you are close to how I felt after hearing that Matt was gone. Eventually, I look up to see that many of the Divas and some of the guys are crying. I wanted to be anywhere at that moment, but I was sitting in the back corner of the changing room. Leaving would just be in bad taste. Fortunately, most of the guys had the sense to just leave me alone. I guess nobody wanted to deal with a broody wrestler who had just killed one of his coworkers.

Thank God Jeff wasn't here.

Monday January 7, 2009

It's been three weeks since the tragedy. At Vince's urging I accompanied my fellow WWE-ers to the funeral in Cameron, NC, but the whole time I feel like I have been watching things through someone else's eyes. The company was nice enough to give me time off, but that did little for my psyche. I can't eat, I don't sleep much and when I do I'm haunted by that night over and over again. I've always dealt with tragedy by shutting myself off, but this time time it isn't working.

The funeral itself was nice, but the whole time I hid behind Batista. One of the advantages of having an almost-seven foot coworker is he provided a good shield. I don't know what would've happened if Matt's father or brother had seen me, but thankfully that didn't happen until later.

I hung in the back while the casket was wheeled into the hearse. Edge, Christian, Shannon Moore, and Shane Helms made excellent pallbearers. I heard a rumour that my name was brought up as well, but you know how that would've flied with the family, eh? From what I've read on-line, I've gotten a royal lambasting from the press, the fans, and some of Matt's close friends over my handling of the situation. How was I to know that Matt was seriously hurt? Like I said, I was in a trance. Vince has kindly offered to show me the tape, but that's the last thing I want. Seriously, would anyone want to see themselves causing a fatal injury to another person?

Anyway, I'm off track. The hearse drives off to the funeral and the Superstars begin to climb aboard the bus to follow. I try, but I can't get my legs to cooperate.

"You coming?" John Cena is the first to notice that I am having a hard time getting my wheels in motion.

"Trying." I mutter, hoping that will get him to leave me alone. I have never been comfortable in these situations and have been known to lash out.

"Let me help you." John reached over.

"I'm fine." I replied, hoping he'd believe the lie.

"You don't look fine to me."

"Cena, I know what you're thinking..."

'Yeah, what am I thinking?" John answered. I'm assuming he's trying to be nice.

"You're thinking... I don't know what you're thinking and frankly I don't give a rip!" Willing my legs to work, I pushed past him and took off down the street. Fuck the internment, fuck the bus, fuck everything. If I had my way, I'd slit my wrists on the spot!

Thursday, January 17

4 a.m.

Well, folks, another sleepless night for ole Eric. As you can tell by reading this, I did not slit my wrists after the funeral, but I have yet to return to the WWE in any form. I'm still on what the company calls "personal leave", but "emotional breakdown" would be more appropriate. "Recluse" would be even better since I have not returned any calls from the office, or had any contact with anyone since the funeral.

There's only one person who I'd even want to talk to, but, despite the fact that he sent me an Email with his number, I can't bring myself to call him. Even then, what would I say to him. "Hi. It's me... sorry for killing your brother." just doesn't seem right.

Maybe I'll drown myself in a bottle of scotch and try to fall asleep. It hasn't worked yet, but oh well...

7:30 a.m.

I passed out on the couch, that much I seem to recall. The three or so hours of unconsciousness was probable the most peace I've had in weeks. Regrettable, that peace was being shattered by someone banging on my door. If there's one thing I hate, it's being aroused at 7:30 in the morning after a night of too much booze, too little sleep. Not caring who it was, all I knew is that they were going to get an earful.

"What the..." I slammed the door as soon as I opened it. Or at least I tried to. Unfortunately, my visitor got his body wedged between the door and the jamb and forced his way in with a shove that sent me on my butt.

"Please... don't hurt me." I whined (or was it the booze again?), trying to shimmy away from my assailant.

"I'm not gonna hurt you if you get your ass off the floor, okay?"

Maybe it was the booze, or maybe it was something else, but I just sat there looking stupid until he reached out his hand. I withdrew.

"I said I wasn't gonna hurt you. Now get up."

Keeping my good hand balled up, I let him pull me upright. Only when I was finally standing, did I see who it was who had accosted me.

"What the hell do you want?" I asked

"Same things you do. Lots of money, a new car, women..."

"Not funny." I growled "Either start making some sense or get the fuck out of my room."

"Chill, dude. You haven't been returning anyone's calls. The company's worried."

"Like the company cares. All I am now is a liability." Hey, it made sense to me.

"After you gave Cena the brush off at the funeral, everyone was worried. Come on, you made a couple friends in the locker room."

"Don't try to make me feel any worse than I already do." I wasn't buying his BS and I think he knew it.

"Don't be so hard on yourself. Adam, John, myself..."

"I know what you are trying to do, but don't lie to me and say that I'm your friend. I fuckin' killed your brother!" I guess now you figured out who had interrupted my stupor.

"Look... shit happens. I actually watched the tape. I don't know why Matt moved his head, but there was nothing you could've done. I've accepted it, now it's time for you to."

"Whatever. Just leave me alone."

"No chance. If I have to, I'll carry your ass to the arena. McMahon wants to see you tomorrow morning ten a.m."

"Tell him I quit..."

"and he also said that if you didn't come to him, he'd come to you. The last time he went to a wrestler's hotel room, the wrestler in question ended up in the hospital."

"I know. Matt told me about you."

"See you tomorrow, E." Jeff closed the door behind him, thankfully, 'coz my empty bottle hit it seconds later.

Friday January 18 10:15 a.m.

Okay, so I'm sitting in McMahon's office, waiting for him. Here he is telling me to show up or else and the old guy is late. I'm just about to leave when I hear the door open and both Vince and Shane McMahon walk in.

"Oh boy, now I'm gonna get it." I think. Thankfully my letter of resignation is already written and nestled carefully in my back pocket. As of this moment, I have every intention of using it the first opportunity I get.

"I see Jeff convinced you to show." Vince said

"I guess you didn't want to pull a WCW act and fire me over the phone. That's why I'm here, right?" I reached for my pocket when Vince stopped me.

"Why would you think that?"

My expression turned from one of anger to one of shock. "Usually, my boss doesn't call me into the office for nothing."

"Listen, Mr. Stryker... Eric..."

Now he really had my attention. To my knowledge, he'd never used my first name before.

"let me explain something to you... Shane, would you mind getting a couple of coffees?"

"Sure Dad, black?"

"Please."

"Eric?"

It took a second for me to clue in. "Same." I replied

"As I was saying, let me explain things to you. One, while we are a Fortune 500 company, we do tend to think of ourselves as an extended family, as I explained to you earlier...

**To Be Continued**

**Feel free to read and critique. I'm a big boy, I can handle it, but keep in mind this is my maiden voyage! TY!  
**


	2. Chapter 2

All characters, with the exception of O/C are copyright WWE Inc. All rights reserved.

Chapter 2

February 3rd, 2009 7:20 p.m.

Somehow I survived that meeting with the McMahons without either being fired or quitting. Don't ask me how, just like don't ask me why I am sitting in a cramped locker room in Fargo, North Dakota lacing up my wrestling boots. After many hours of soul-searching, assuming I'm not a soulless bastard like my exes would say, I have decided to try to resurrect my career from the flames. Thankfully, none of the guys have tried to pull the "best friend" routine, instead they just leave me be, which is fine.

"You ready?"

"Physically, yes..." I reply

"Good. I'll see you in the ring..." My opponent for the night, CM Punk, leaves, probably wondering who he pissed off to draw this assignment.

"Ladies and gentleman, this contest is scheduled for one fall..." I barely hear the rest of the introductions over the cheers of the crowd and believe me, they're not for me. When I am introduced, all I hear are boos and the odd catcall of killer.

Even Punk is a little put off by the fans reactions, but manages to stay in character. Me, I'm looking for an exit. Okay, this is America and I believe in free speech, but don't they realize that even wrestling fans can go too far. Okay, killer isn't bad, but how about the sign that says Matt Hardy R.I.P. then underneath it, "Who's next?" (Must've had a sale on old Goldberg signs.) Come on people, this is hard enough for me as it is.

8:04 p.m.

The match is finally over. I lasted twenty-odd minutes with Punk before tapping out to the Anaconda vice. While Punk celebrated, I staggered back to my locker room and only got hit by one flying soda can. So, any red spots on this page you'll know what they are.

Anyhow, after the unintentional blading, I'm walking back to my locker room where hopefully I can get changed and out of here without further damage. So far so good. Nobody wants to talk to me... no fans, no wrestlers, not even the lady from catering, which is fine with me. But all good things must come to an end and my retreat is shattered when I glimpse seven different hair colours out of the corner of my eye. For reasons that still escape me, Jeff has been hanging around an awful lot since, face it, I killed his brother. I even heard rumours that he's asked to be transferred to ECW. I'm rambling, I know, but my therapist says its good for me. Yes, I'm in therapy... you wanna make somethin' of it???

"How's it goin'?" Since there is no one around. I assume the question is directed at me. Great, I'm sweaty, stressed to the max, and bleeding, and he wants to make nice.

"Honest answer Jeff... crappy."

"Sorry." Jeff looks at the floor.

"What are you apologizing for?" I retort, harsher than I'd intended. "It's not you, it's me."

Jeff looks back at me, another funny expression on his face.

"And stop leering at me like that. People will think we just broke up." I love throwing movie line at people, even though most of the time they miss the reference.

"You a Kevin Smith fan?" Jeff asked. Damn, he got it! Now I have to make conversation. Christ!!!!

"I guess so." I tried to pass it off as something small, when I owned all of his movies.

"Me too. Maybe we could watch them some night?"

"Sure..." Wait a minute, did I just say I'd spend some time with this guy? "I mean, I usually don't mix business with pleasure..."

"It's cool." Jeff seemed to take the letdown a lot better than I would have. "I thought, y'know, since you never seem to hang around with anyone..."

"That I could use the company?" Suddenly, spending some time with the surviving Hardy didn't seem like such a bad idea. Maybe my shrink is right... for what the company is paying, I hope so. "On one condition... we don't talk about what happened."

"Deal."

11:45 p.m.

So, here I am, sitting on my couch, watching "An Evening With Kevin Smith", much to my delight. Every time I see it, I find something new to laugh at. It helps that this time I'm not alone and I have learned one thing: Jeff and I share a similar outlook on life. We're both creative, imaginative, and outgoing... Jeff a little more on the last point than me. I almost feel like asking if I can get a membership in the Imagi-nation.

"I know we agreed, but..."

"Oh God, " I groaned "there goes the night."

"I just want you to know that whenever you're ready to talk, I'll listen." Jeff leaned against the side of the couch on his way to either the kitchen or my bathroom."

"The company has already taken care of that." I reply, trying to go back to the movie.

"Okay. Just throwing it out there. Whatever. I don't blame you, if that helps..."

"I kinda figured that out for myself..." I answered, trying to be cool about it. "if you're passing the fridge, I could use another beer."

"Another?! You've polished off most of the case already."

"I went to the Stone Cold School of Beer Drinking. You gotta problem with that?" Yes, I was nicely buzzed but, unlike mixed drinks, I can hold beer a lot better... though it makes me need to piss every five minutes.

"Catch." Jeff throws one at me. Guess what, I miss it. Guess where it hits me... yup, same spot.

"Oh shit."

Dulled by the beer, I don't realize what has happened until several red spots appear on the leg of my jeans.

"Got any band-aids?" Jeff asks

"Nu-skin in my travel bag." I reply, standing up before my nice white couch needs new upholstery. Jeans I can afford to replace; a four thousand dollar leather couch: not so easily.

Jeff runs back to get it, while I lie down on the carpet. It's already a dark colour, so I'm not worried about the blood.

"Can you do it or do you want me to...?"

"I can manage." I claim, but I know I'm lying and it only takes a few awkward moments before Jeff realizes that too.

"Let me do it." He grabs the bottle from my hand and straddles me.

Under most circumstances, most implying a female on top of me, this would be mildly arousing. So, my question is, why is my dick responding?

If Jeff notices my, um, state, he says nothing and just goes about his business.

"There. Good as new."

I reach up to feel my brow and wince when I touch the still-sensitive area.

"Does it still hurt?" Jeff asks, sounding like my Mom would after liberal applications of iodine. Having a nurse as a Mom was not fun. You had to have one foot in the grave and the other on a patch of ice before you could even think about staying home from school.

"Mm-hm." I say

"Want Uncle Jeffy to kiss it better?"

Before I can tell him I'd rather have another catheter inserted, he follows through. Only, he doesn't kiss my forehead, he plants one on my lips.

"What the... mmph!" Parts of me want to thrash him, but some other parts of me seem to be enjoying this, and it's those parts that seem to be guiding me as I kiss him back. To quote Ron Simmons, "DAMN!"

February 4th, 6 a.m.

With a start, I am awake. Okay, maybe it had something to do with the alarm clock set at full volume, or maybe it was the hangover, but the first thing I realize is I am not on the floor in the living room, but in my bed. The second thing is I am not alone and the third thing is we are both naked. Holy confusion, Hurricane!!!

Quickly tossing on a pair of boxers, I stagger out into the hallway. Thank God I don't have to travel until tomorrow. The sight in my living room astonishes me. I am in no way a neat freak, but I do like to keep things tidy. As I step over several articles of clothing on my way to the couch, pieces of last night come back to me.

Earlier last night,

Jeff breaks the kiss first, but I'm so zoned out at the moment that it takes me a minute to realize this.

"What the..." I gasp

"I'm sorry..." In a flash, Jeff is off me, trying to cover himself up. A quick glance confirms his arousal as well.

"What the hell was that all about?" I try to put on my pissed-off face, but I can't seem to get it right.

"Look, I'll go now..." Jeff heads for the door, grabbing his jacket off the back of the recliner as he passes.

"Don't let him leave like this." My mind says "C'mon, he's all you've got right now."

"Hey, Hardy..."

He ignores me, slipping into his shoes without tying them.

I am in full panic mode right now. I don't realize it yet, but I need him.

"I'm talking to you... Jeffro."

Using his brother's pet name for him makes him stop with his hand on the doorknob.

"What did you call me?"

Uh-oh, I hit a nerve. "Sorry man, it slipped out."

"That's..." I hear a slight hic in his voice and realize he's the one falling apart right now, not me. In the time it takes for me to cross my living room, he's broken down completely.

I'll be honest with you. Being a comforting force has never been my strong suit. Even admitting that I have emotions is hard for me (ask my psychiatrist!), but if there's one thing that really get to me it's seeing a friend in pain. Okay, so I've known Jeff for how long? A couple weeks, a month maybe? He's a friend, alright...!

I'm not sure what to do. Just standing there seems a little voyeuristic, even though it's my house, and walking away is just plain rude. Dipping into my memory bag, I try to remember what my mom did when I was hurt.

"Hey kid..."

"Wha..." His sobs are muffled when I plant one on him. I can taste him as well as the beer and the salt from his tears all mixed into one very potent flavour. MMM, essence of Hardy, someone should bottle that and sell it... they'd make a fortune.

This time, I'm the one to break the kiss. Jeff looks at me, eyes shimmering with something other than his tears. I swear I've never eyes that colour before. Seconds later, he's completely in my arms, sobbing uncontrollably.

"Shhh... it's okay Jeff..." Only know do I realize how much he's held in since the accident. Here I am, being the self-centred guy, and not only do I not realize it's not just about me, but that I've been wrong all along. Jeff wasn't trying to reach out to me; he needed someone to reach out to.

At some point I lost it and there we stand in my hallway, crying like a couple of teenage girls at a Jonas Bros. Concert. Not the prettiest picture, I know, but oh well...

The present

I want to clean up the place as soon as possible, but I don't like touching other guys' clothes and the owner of most of them is still asleep in my bed. Hmm, what to do, what to do??

Gathering my clothes, most smelling of beer or something that I don't even want to think about, I head back into my room where the sleeping beauty is still sprawled across a good three-quarters of my bed.

"Hey, you..." I prod him with my toe.

No reply. I try harder.

"Get up." I shout a little louder. His only response sounds decidedly like "fuck off", but I can't be sure with the pillow, MY pillow, covering his face.

That's it. Jeffrey Nero Hardy, get your ass up this minute or I'm calling Vince!!! The company has a policy against sleeping with your co-workers!!!!"

That'll should wake him up. If it doesn't, I had no clue as to what I was going to do, but several devious ideas came to mind.

I wasn't even out the door when a pillow struck me squarely in the back on the head.

"Good, you're up. Get out here and pick up your shit."

Jeff pulled back the covers before realizing that all of his clothing was in my living room.

"That way..." I directed him.

"But..." I couldn't help laugh. The guy throws himself at me one minute and now he's all shy.

**To Be Continued...**

**Warning... things are gonna get gooey in the next chapter... Feel free to read and comment...  
**


	3. Chapter 3

All characters with the exceptions of my oc are coypright WWE inc. Christian Cage appears courtesy of TNA Wrestling. I made no claims regarding the lifestyles of any person, real or real, within. I have received nothing for this work... strictly for your enjoyment.

Chapter 3

February 10th 4:24 p.m.

Okay, so where was I? Confused to say the least. So, much like a certain US president, I took a few days away from the action to clear my head. Right now, the company is giving me so much leeway with my schedule, I could disappear for months and nobody would notice. Except my multicolour-haired friend, who has been sticking to me like a band-aid. Anyhow, I am chillin'. There's nothing more peaceful than lying on a couch with a cold beer and just staring at the ceiling. Even though it has come to my attention that someone, no names mentioned, has plastered a poster of himself right above my couch. I will admit that looking at it does relax me. Scary thought is, I find myself carrying on conversations with it. TMI, I know, but you asked...

Flashback

For instance, I needed to know what happened that night and there is no polite way to ask without sounding like a perv.

So Jeff walks past, nether regions blowing in the wind (or at least the air conditioning) and begins getting his clothes together. I'm standing there, trying to find the right words to express myself... after reading this, you probably can't believe that I'd ever be a loss for words...

"Hey, Jeff, what the hell happened last night?" I ask, trying to sound nonchalant about it.

"What do you mean?"

"The last thing I remember is we were crying like a coupla kids..."

Jeff blushes. Oh God, we did it! I think to myself.

"What happened? This is awkward enough for me right now without having to fill in the blanks. This is not Match Game..."

"Last night, Jeff Hardy and Eric Stryker blanked..." I can hear the voice of the late Gene Rayburn in my head. In spite of myself, I chuckle.

Jeff looks lost. Sometime I forget that he is three years younger than me. I was only five when Match Game went off the air, so unless he's a Youtube connoisseur, he probably has no clue what I am rambling about.

"You really don't remember?" Jeff is now fully dressed, except for those weird things he wears on his arms, though I don't even recall if he had them on last night.

"I told you... after we went to pieces, I'm having a hard time figuring things out."

Jeff smirks at my use of the word hard which really makes me think we did it.

"Eric, it was the most incredible night of my life... the way you held me, the way you kissed me... it was like nothing I'd ever experienced before."

Not withstanding the compliment on my romantic side, the thought of what happened next sent a shiver down my back.

"Okay, even assuming we were romantic in my living room, why did only part of us end up in the bedroom?"

"Man, you must've been out of it..."

"That's the only way I'd fuck a guy... you sure you didn't slip a roofie in that beer you threw at me?" Too late, I realize that I've said the last statement aloud. Jeff's resolve is breaking again and the last thing I want is to make him cry again.

"Sometimes my mouth overloads my brain. Disregard that last sentence, okay?"

Jeff swallows hard. Two tears have already run down his face.

Channelling this sensitive side that I never knew I had, I wipe them away from him. I swear to you, those eyes just burn right through me.

"I think we need to get the record straight..." Exhaling loudly, I throw myself on the couch. Jeff cautiously sits on the other end, looking nervous, anxious, scared, I'm not sure which.

"I'm not gonna bite." I joke, watching his impression of Mr. McMahon's 'gulp of fear'. The kid looks kinda cute doing it... no, I will not think like that!!!!! Eventually, he scoots over until he is nestled in my lap. Not exactly what I meant, but it'll do for now. And the way he looked up at me... oh man, it was all I could not to take him right there.... Jesus, what is wrong with me... I've never felt like this before and I can't handle it!!!!!

I'm sure that my pheromones were detectable for miles around. "Please Jeff, I need to know... what happened?"

"It was amazing," he said "I've never felt that safe in someone's arms before... except..." I can feel the tension in him. I know exactly how that sentence was going to end, even if he hadn't broken down yet again.

"Shhh, Jeffy." I'm getting a little misty myself, yet I still fell a sense of self-loathing. All he asked for is some friendship and I'm making him cry every chance I get. "Everything's gonna be alright. I'm here for you." God, I sound like a character in a really bad fanfic, but it seems to work.

The next things out of his mouth floors me. Thank God I'm on the couch.

"I love you Eric..."

And my reply floors me even more.

"I love you too Jeff." I can't believe I just said that, but it feels right. For all my reservations, I finally realize that yes, I am in love with Jeffrey Nero Hardy! And, believe it or not, I don't care if it's wrong... I don't care that the only reason we're together is that I killed his brother. I don't even care that I'm supposedly hetero. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. Okay, at least the rest of the day. Even if I can't remember what we did the night before, I sure as hell want to make up for it.

I guess I must've been staring at him like a bloodhound, because Jeff's voice snaps me back to reality.

"What's wrong?" he asks

"Nothing." I answer "I can honestly say I am happy right now."

February 11th, 8 a.m.

Man, is my back sore. We both fell asleep on the couch watching "Thelma and Louise". I'm quite content though to forget about my pain and run my fingers through his long hair, though. "Damn, I need to get some of whatever he uses."

"Mmmf." Jeff rolls over, and sort of wakes up.

"Good morning to you too, sleepyhead." I am tempted to kiss him, but then realize I probably have the worst morning breath on the planet right now. "Can you sit up for a second?" I also need to use the bathroom really bad.

He doesn't move fast enough for me, so I lift him up by the hair, shimmy my legs out from under him, and drop him back down. He hits the arm with an thud.

"Sorry." I apologize while I am halfway to the can. I barely make it as it is... now I know how pregnant women feel; having all that extra weight on my bladder was definitely not something I want to repeat. Next time we decide to watch movies all night, we're doing it in bed. Just as I finish, I hear the doorbell.

"Can you get that?"

The doorbell rings several more times. Quickly washing my hands, I run to the door, passing Jeff, who has fallen asleep again. "I guess not."

Just pausing long enough to make sure my jeans are zipped, I fling the door back. Adam and Jay are standing there, looking confused.

"Can I help you?" I ask

"Yeah. We're looking for Jeff. Someone told us he was staying with a friend, but..."

"You didn't figure it was me, eh?" I let it slide. "D'you want to come in? It looks like there's some nasty weather on the way."

"Don't mind if we do." Though I have a five-minute acquaintance with Adam, and had never officially met Jay, they immediately make themselves at home, complete with muddy boots on my floor, overcoats thrown anywhere, Adam plopping himself in my favorite chair while Jay heads for my fridge.

"So, Eric, I know we aren't exactly close, and I don't want to get too personal, but...:"

"You're wondering WTF is going on, right?"

"Pretty much."

"You know, Adam, I wish I knew... holy crap, doesn't TNA feed you?" Jay has just returned, and it looks like he emptied my entire fridge onto a plate.

"Want some?" He asks, holding out a chicken leg to me. I'd say yes, but it looks like someone's dog has already gnawed on it.

"I'll pass." I look back at Adam. "What, may I ask, is it any business of yours anyway?"

"Look, I don't want to get in your face over this, but Jeff and I are close. I don't want you taking advantage of him..."

Oh, that's a good one. Me take advantage of him. I can barely control myself from laughing and waking up the aforementioned object of my advantage-taking.

"Adam, I really think you should talk to Jeff before you go jumping down my throat." I'm not sure how much more to say, since the exact details are still fuzzy.

"Talk to me about what?" Jeff had awakened during our conversation.

"Go ahead, Adam, repeat what you just said to me." I love putting people on the spot.

Adam hesitated just long enough, so I decided to make him squirm.

"Ole Edge here thinks I am taking advantage of you."

"It's not that... Jay and I are concerned, okay? We know what you are going through and we don't want to see you hurt any more."

"I can take care of myself..." Jeff retorts. Is the little guy actually getting angry at them? Cool, I love drama. "Besides, Eric loves me... he said so himself."

Jay nearly chokes on the half a ham he's been periodically slamming down. How one man can fit that much food in him is a mystery to me. Just looking at that ham is packing on the weight.

I can tell from Edge's expression that he doesn't believe it either.

"At the risk of sounding like the biggest hypocrite in the world, yes I said it and, yes, I mean it." I'm getting a little pissed off and I don't like it. "And, if this is the way this conversation is going to continue, it might be best if you two left."

"C'mon Jay, it's obvious Eric has him brainwashed or something." Gathering their mess, excepting the plate that Jay drops on my coffee table, splattering grease everywhere, they are out the door in five minutes.

"And I've gotta work with him..." I mutter "Sheesh, that was..."

I lose my voice when I turn around. Jeff has gone completely white.

"Hey bro, don't tell me you believe that nonsense?" Sometimes I don't believe half the things I say, but this time, when my heart leads, my head is following. "I'd never hurt you, you know that... don't you?"

"I guess." He doesn't seem convinced enough.

"Maybe this will help?" I lean over him and kiss him tenderly. Within seconds, he has his arms wrapped around me and is kissing me back.

"Well, did it?" I ask, coming up for air. I swear that guy could suck a bowling ball through a garden hose.

He just pulls me back down. I guess that's a yes.

**To Be Continued**

**Coming up next... what happens when Adam can't keep his mouth shut? How will the locker room react?**

**I will try to get the next chapter up as soon as possible, but I can't guarantee anything!  
**


	4. Chapter 4

All characters are copyright to WWE inc.

Eric Stryker appears courtesy the author.

Chris Jericho appears courtesy himself (and his parents I guess!)

I know I may have messed up who's on what show, but I claim artistic license. And since this is strictly for enjoyment, deal with it!!!

Chapter 4

February 14th, 7 p.m.

Knowing that there is no way that Christian will be around to harass me is the only reason that I have any guts right now. It's gonna be my first day back in a while, and while I was gone somebody who shall remain nameless (but is asleep in the seat beside me) arranged to have me transferred to Raw. A fresh start is how Vince put it when he first told me.

"We're here, buddy." I am becoming more attached to the little guy the more we hang out and lately it seems that we've been inseparable. Not that either of us has been in the ring lately, but y'know what I mean.

"Huh?" Jeff looks over, yawning.

"Come on, can't have you looking like we were up all night."

"But we were?" It's good to see that the twinkle in his eyes has returned. So has mine for that matter.

"No one has to know that, right?" I grab our luggage from the trunk while Jeff wakes up.

"Here." I throw his stuff at him and walk to the arena. We're in Toronto, Canada and, in typical Canadian fashion, up to our necks in snow. And there's more coming, if I believe the forecast.

"Hey, wait up." He quickly catches up to me, and slyly grabs my hand. I don't care, but nor do I expect the whistles from my coworkers the second we get inside.

"Don't they make a cute couple?"

"Damn, I wish I knew Jeff went for older guys!"

I can tune most of them out, but Jeff seems to be letting it get to him. If I can read his body language, he's close to breaking again.

"Okay, can the shit, guys!" I yell out at our "admirers". "We've haven't even unpacked yet!"

The kissy noises follow us into our locker room, where wonder of wonders Edge is waiting, already dressed for his match.

This is awkward, so I drop my bag next to Jeff's and quickly head for catering.

"Can we talk?" Is all I hear before the door closes.

"Good to see you back, Eric." I meet up with Y2J and John Cena at the buffet.

"Nice to be back." Again, corny reply, but what can you do. "It'll take some getting used to."

"How's Jeff?" Cena asks

"Taking it about as well as he can." I don't feel it polite to mention that practically every night I can hear him crying into his pillow. "Y'know Hardy, he's holding a lot of stuff inside."

A bang from the locker room interrupts us.

"What was that?" Cena runs back, followed by Jericho and myself. We walk in to a huge fight between Jeff and Edge.

"I think Raw started a little early tonight." Jericho, Cena, and I can only watch as what is obviously a legitimate argument soon spills out into the hallway. We quickly separate the two. I pull Jeff away while the other two corral Edge. They are screaming obscenities at each other even as we separate them.

"What" I look at Edge "is your problem?"

"Me? He started it." Edge sounds like a third-grader.

"I did not." Jeff struggles to free himself, but when my adrenaline charges, I have an iron grip.

"Calm down, you two. Before I have to send you both to time out." I'm not sure if Vince is making a joke, or if he really knows what is going on, but it appears that he is generally annoyed.

"Yes, Mr. McMahon." Both Edge and Jeff reply, wrenching themselves from our collective grasps.

"Nice to see you back, Eric... you ready for your match tonight?" Vince looks me over quickly. Okay, I have put on a few pounds during my layoff, but nothing noticeable (at least to me).

"Can't wait." I reply

"I'll see you later." Edge watches the boss go one way and then he barrels past the two of us.

"What'd he mean?" Jeff looks at me, I can sense some uneasiness.

"I got a match with him tonight."

"What?" He now looks completely terrified. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Don't worry about it. Edge and I are both professionals." Now who am I trying to fool? Flashbacks to what Edge and Matt did to each other have put me, pardon the expression, on Edge.

9:30 p.m.

It's time for my match. Edge vs Eric Stryker non-title. When I looked at the run sheet, I saw that we were the "main event". Must've been a slow night, plot-wise. Like everyone else, I watched the rest of the show, getting a more anxious with each passing match. Finally, it was time.

"Wish me luck." I grab my ring jacket.

"Good luck." Jeff kisses me on the cheek. This elicits more catcalls from our buddies, but we can both shrug it off.

I walk to the ring, some crap playing for ring entrance music. It would be nice if the WWE could talk to some legitimate musicians and come up with a decent theme for me. In the ring, I stretch against the ropes, waiting for Edge to make his entrance.

The metall-esque music begins, marking his imminent entrance. And there he is. Trailed by Ryder and Hawkins, he looks a lot more menacing than he did sitting in my living room three days ago.

Pretending not to notice, I wait for him to enter, my unease building. At great lengths we had talked about our match, but I don't recall anything being said about Ryder and Hawkins. Oh well, they're like a couple of lost puppies anyway.

So we lock up. And Edge pushes me back into the ropes. No big, it's what we had arranged. We lock up again and I push him back this time. Everything is still on page, so I whip him across the ring. He sprints back to me, and we shoulder to shoulder, neither one of us go down...

9:57 p.m.

We're still at it. They gave us half-an-hour for our match. We're both feeling it. Edge has me backed into a corner and I hear referee Mike Chioda whisper "two minutes" while ordering Edge to back off. According to what I remember, he was supposed to goad me back into the middle of the ring then all hell would break loose, ending with me getting a lucky win. Somewhere down the line it changed. Instead of letting me free, Edge lets go a right hook. I don't expect it, nor do I see it coming in time and BAM! I'm down.

"What are you doing?" The ref asks

Edge throws him aside with enough force to shake the turnbuckles and then returns to pounding me. Once I am sufficiently groggy, he signals to his cronies who continue to beat me while he grabs a metal chair from ringside.

"Hold him." He orders.

"But Edge, this isn't..."

"I said hold him..." Even Ryder and Hawkins seem to realize that something isn't right. For one, I should be struggling, but I'm not.

"No, Edge, this isn't what we agreed to."

BAM! Down goes Ryder courtesy of the chair. Hawkins follows.

"When I say hold him, you fuckin' well better hold him."

I'm on my knees, blood washing down my face from the right hands I had received earlier. All I can do is hope that someone in the back had figured out that is what the business calls a shoot. Edge swings, knocking me on my ass with the chair. Blood flies everywhere and I feel my face shatter with the impact.

The only consolation is that the fans even suspect that this isn't part of the show and are screaming for someone to help.

Edge stands me up, and for a moment I think it's over. Then he raises the chair again.

"This is for Matt."

All I see are stars then the grayness of the mat, which has become splattered red. I am vaguely aware that there is a huge commotion in the ring. I guess someone figured it out. Thankfully, the blackness soon consumes me, but not before I am aware of another wetness on me. I barely open the one eye that isn't caked shut with blood and see Jeff standing over me, crying.

"Eric.."

I can't speak very well, but I can do one thing. I raise my arm and grab his hand. He collapses next to me as I finally lose consciousness.

**To Be Continued**

**  
Coming soon, hell hath no fury...  
**


	5. Chapter 5

All characters courtesy WWE inc. Etc. Etc. Etc.

Chapter 5

February 15th - March 13th

Okay, for those of who who have been following my adventures, I'll give you a heads-up. The next entries are all second- and third-hand accounts. I don't remember much, so I've had to rely on those who were there to fill in the details. Bear with me.

Courtesy of Jeff Hardy

I knew something was wrong when I saw Edge knock down Ryder and Hawkins, but by the time I ran to the ring the damage was already done. The medics were loading him onto a stretcher while it looked like every one of our referees and agents were trying to get Edge under control. I've known the guy for years and I've never seen him act that way. Okay, so he has acted like an asshole before, but whatever.

Everyone says I was in shock while they loaded Eric into the ambulance. I remember riding along with him, completely scared that I was losing someone else. After Matt's death, he's been the only constant in my life and if he went, I didn't know what I'd do...

I followed as far as I could, but the damn EMT's made me stay in the waiting room. Damn, I wish Eric had been awake; at least then he'd have told them to let me go with. Two hours later, I'm pacing around, having downed enough caffeine to wake up our entire roster, and wondering why no one else from the company has bothered to even check up on him. Usually Vince is the first to follow up. He may act like a son-of-a-bitch, but at least he's a son-of-a-bitch with a heart.

Courtesy of Vince McMahon

In all my years running the WWE, I have had to deal with all sorts of tragedy involving our wrestling family. Accidents in the ring, deaths of several of our guys, but I have never had someone blatantly disregard the well-being of another worker before. This left me in a very difficult position. From my conversations with him, I knew that Adam blamed Eric for what happened to Matt. But that still doesn't excuse him from what he did, and so I was forced to make a tough decision, but I needed to know exactly what Jeff's mindset was before I reacted.

So I spent an hour yelling at Adam, I won't go into details, but let's just say his career with me was put on hold for a very long time, then I got into my limo and drove to the hospital. It was a long trip, with the snow and the ice, and it was almost three hours after the ambulance left that I finally made it. Then, trying to get any information out of the duty nurse was like getting money out of Kane, so I was forced to wander the halls looking for the admit area. I'm thankful that some of the other medical staff was a little more forthwith with directions or I might still be walking around as we speak... anyway, I'm rambling...

Apparently, Vince wasn't the only one who had troubles getting there. Someone did show up eventually.

Courtesy of John Cena

Okay, so I'll be the first guy to admit that getting emotional is not my style... getting naked is...

Insert your own mental picture here

but when I saw Eric's mangled face as he was wheeled past me, I almost went Chain-gang on Edge. Man, if I could remember the things we said to each other before Vince called him into the office, I could fill a book.

Thankfully, I overheard the EMT's talking about which hospital was the closest. Unfortunately I know Toronto's streets about as well as I know how to perform Samoan butt-sex. So I corralled Jericho and asked him how to get there and he seemed to enjoy telling me where to go. He wanted to ride with me, but I brushed him off, saying I needed some time to cool down. Which I did.

I guess I got there five minutes or so before Vince found the waiting room, 'coz there was no one around, except a groove-pacing, frantic-looking, high-strung... well, you know who was there.

I guess he'd been by himself for a while 'coz when the dude saw me, he almost jumped into my arms. Okay, I'm not into that sorta stuff, but what could I do?

Jeff Hardy returns

Okay, so I jump John Cena... big whoop! He was the first person there and man, did I need some company. I'm sure the big lummox was uncomfortable with me hanging onto him...

"Did I say that?"

"No, but you thought it..."

"Okay, so you're now a mind reader, are you?"

"Knock it off before I kick both your asses..."

"Sorry Vince..."

"If this is the future of the company, I'm getting out tomorrow..." Vince sits down in a chair, wiping sweat from his forehead.

"Have you heard anything?" John asks me

"Nothing." I whisper "They took him in two hours ago and nobody has said anything to me. They wouldn't even let me go up with him. They said I wasn't family."

"I may not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, and I won't pretend to understand the relationship you two have, but that's not right."

"Maybe I can help?" Vince power-walks over to the receptionist, and immediately turns on his "Mr. McMahon" character. It seems to work, because within five minutes, there's a doctor standing before us.

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting, but we had to stabilize him first..."

"Why can't I see him?" I demand

"Hospital policy... visits are limited to family members only..."

"Look, you overpaid veterinarian." John grabs the doctor by the lapels. "It's..."

"Down, Cena!" Vince steps in. "Listen, as his employer, I can swear to you that we are the closest thing to family that he has. Maybe you could bend the rules this once?"

Cena steps forward again. I'm not sure if this made up the doctor's mind or not, but I'd like to think so.

"It's against regs, but okay. Only one of you."

I was so happy I hugged Vince.

"Ugh, you better go before he changes his mind." I'm sure Vince was more afraid of getting my hair dye on his suit than the doctor reneging.

"We'll stick around in case the others show up." John heads for the vending machine. Vince is still trying to brush the creases out of his clothes when last I saw him. The doctor leads me up to the ICU.

"I want to prepare you for what you are going to see. We had to shave Mr. Stryker's head to close his scalp lac... it took 29 stitches and three staples to close the wound..."

"Basically, he's gonna look like crap..." I interject

"Basically." The doctor agrees. "The whole right side of his face had to be surgically repaired. We were fortunate enough to be able to do this in only four hours, but there is still massive swelling. He won't be able to speak very much, but he is conscious."

"Nurse, would you take him to room 2, please?" The doctor seemed anxious to get rid of me. I guess dealing with a bunch of over-hyped wrestlers was not on his agenda.

"Certainly, doctor. This way please."

If you've seen what I have looked like after some of the TLC matches that I've had over my career, that doesn't even come close to what Eric looked like.

"Mr. Stryker... someone to see you."

"Hiya..." I was totally shocked. Even with what the doctor told me, I still winced at the sight.

"How bad do I look?" Eric whispered

"Beautiful."

"Nice try., Jeffro." Eric looked at me with the one eye that wasn't swollen shut.

"Eric, I..." I swallowed hard , trying to keep my composure. I've cried more in the last three months than I had the rest of my life.

"Keep it together, bro. I can't get these bandages wet and you know what happened last time you fell apart on me."

"Yeah, we ended up..."

"Not that part." Surprisingly, Eric still hasn't asked me to fill him in on our "night of passion", at least not since the first night, and I haven't bothered either. I'm afraid of what it might do if he finds out the truth.

I pulled up a chair to sit beside him. I thought I could handle it, but I was so drained emotionally, my legs were shaking just trying to stand.

"Hey, kid, are you alright?" Eric had this annoying habit of asking me obvious questions when he knew I was on the verge of spacing out. I loved him for that.

I nodded, a familiar lump forming in my throat.

"Keep it together." Both Eric and I knew that he shouldn't be talking, but if he didn't care and there was no doctor around, than neither did I. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Why, Eric? Why did this have to happen?" I'm desperate for answers.

"Beats me. I thought you and he were friends."

"We were." I answered "When are they gonna let you leave?" I wanted to change the subject. Talking about former friends was not on my to-do list

"Dunno, kid. They haven't said much to me. I'm surprised that they let you up here."

"Vince pulled some strings."

"Gotta love Mr. McMahon..." Eric said

For some reason, I suddenly thought of Matty again and it broke me down.

"Oh God Jeff, don't. It's gonna be okay." Eric stroked my cheek with the back of his hand.

"I miss my Matty." I don't know why I said that at that particular moment,

"I know you do." Eric answered, sliding over a few inches. "C'mere."

"There's not enough room."

"You're little."

I crawled into the bed beside him.

"You know Jeff, they say that there's always a bright side to everything. Do you believe that?"

I nodded.

"You may have lost your Matty, but you gained me. And believe me, I'm not letting anything happen to my Jeffykins..."

I hoped that no one would come in for a while, 'coz I didn't want to give up the feeling of warmth and security that I had with Eric. Just to be beside him, with his strong arm around me made me feel safe once more.

"I still miss him." I mumbled, falling asleep in his arms.

"So do I." Eric replied as I drifted into dreamland. I slept like a baby for the first time in months.

March 12st 9 p.m.

Okay, guys, you've had your fun. What a relief it was to finally get out of that hospital. Even if it was just to get on a plane and fly back to Fargo for more rest and relaxation. Though I didn't do a lot of resting. Jeff saw to that. Man, the things he can do with his mouth are indescribable and believe me, I've tried.

So, I got a call from Vince just after we arrived home. Y'know, just checking up on me. I was grateful for the call since it gave me an excuse to throw Jeff out of my bed for a moment. I still need me time, regardless.

"So, Eric, I guess you got home in one piece."

"Sort of. I didn't think having a house mother was part of the bargain... Jeff, go away, please!"

He put on his pouty face and left. Boy, would I have fun making up to him later.

"I've read the doctor's report and I was wondering when you felt you'd be ready to come back to the ring?"

"Y'know, boss, I'm not sure I'll ever be able to return." I had given this a lot of thought. "Physically, I'm okay, but mentally I'm fucked, pardon the language."

"We're not gonna force you into something that may have consequences. We'll honor your contract regardless. But, there is something I'd like to ask you about your relationship with Jeff..."

I braced myself for the lecture about fishing off the company dock.

"Are you two as serious as everyone thinks?"

"Vince, I don't know what Jeff's frame of mind is, but I could spend the rest of my life with him..."

"That's what I wanted to hear. I have an idea..."

I listened to the proposal and I have to admit, I liked it. "When did you want to do this?"

"Turn on the TV."

I flicked the remote just in time to catch one of the WWE's weekly wrap up shows. I watched the clip of Vince announcing that Adam had been stripped of the title and there would be a new champion crowned at Wrestlemania.

"So that's why Jeff's been so happy lately." I mumbled

"I didn't catch that." I suddenly realized that I still had the phone to my ear. "So, Wrestlemania, then?"

"Somehow, I will be there." I hung up the phone and whistled for my manservant/boyfriend.

"You need your pills?" He asked

"Not yet." I patted the bed beside. "Sit."

"Is something wrong?"

"How could you not tell me that you had a title match at Wrestlemania?" I put on my angry face, but regrettably, couldn't hold it for long.

"I didn't want you to get too excited. It's no big..."

"No big? Dude, it's Wrestlemania!"

"Yeah, but they're giving it back to Cena." Jeff's shoulders fell a little.

"I see. Well, how about I find a way to make you forget about it? If you can stand looking at me, that it?"

I had not looked in a mirror since the accident and had no plans to do anytime soon.

" What'd you have in mind?"

"This." I kissed him deeply, parting his soft lips with my tongue and plunging inside his mouth in one movement. I know I'm no Casanova, but I know how to push at least one person's buttons. Speaking of buttons, it wasn't long before my other hand found the ones on his jeans and starting undoing them.

"You may have to scoot up here if you want me to continue." I had been instructed to keep my head as still as possible whenever possible. Something about the bones needed time to fuse and, unless I wanted to look like the elephant man, I should probably listen.

Jeff lifted himself slightly, allowing his pants and boxers to find their way to the floor then carefully straddled my chest. "How's this?" He asked

"Perfect." I gripped his semi-hard member in my hand and started teasing it. He became fully hard in seconds.

"A little anxious, are we?" I joked

"There's nothing little about it." He replied, thrusting in the direction of my face.

"True." I grabbed his thighs and pushed his crotch to my face. Then, I started slowly licking around the head and shaft. Jeff's moans soon drowned out the television, but I usually don't watch TV during sex.

"Unhhh...."

"You like it?" Not waiting for an answer. I plunged his entire length into my mouth.

"Oh, fuck...." Jeff groaned

"You know you have to do some of the work here." It was not easy to speak with a mouth full.

Jeff started thrusting and I let him use me like a teenage boy's fist. It seemed like both forever and no time at all until he let himself go. I swear to you that is the last time I swallow without some warning. The dude must not have gotten off in weeks since I almost drowned in it.

"You like?" Stupid question, I know.

"Awesome." Jeff leaned over to kiss me, tasting some of himself still on my lips. "So, how about I return the favor?" He reached under the covers, but to his surprise I stopped him.

"Not right now, bro, we've got other things to do?"

"Like what?" I think he was afraid he'd gone too far.

"Dude, we're going to Dis... I mean Wrestlemania." Damn, why did I have to blow the line!

**To be Continued**

**I'm sorry that the slash is a little weak, but I'm a lot better at doing it that describing it...**

**Please, comment, critique, whatever...**


	6. Chapter 6

All character copyright WWE inc unless as previously noted.

Chapter 6

April 4th, 1 p.m.

Damn, I wish I could sleep a lot better, but since I still have to keep my head perfectly still at night, It's awkward. Even more so when Jeff wants to cuddle early in the morning. I continually have to remind him to take it easy on my old bones. I think he does it to make sure I'm still alive. God, I love that about him. It's like having a cat living with you; only one that feeds himself and changes his own litter box.

What wakes me up this time is not the feel of a tongue running over me, but the squeal of brakes.

"What the..." My head snaps forward and part of my twisted mind can almost feel the side of my face slowly slipping down to my neck.

"Sorry, " Jeff apologizes. He's doing the driving. Did I mention that he drives like he wrestles?

"What happened?" I gingerly feel my face. No damage. I breathe again.

"Some idiot cut me off."

"Jackass." I mumble, ready to doze off again.

"Don't go back to sleep. We're almost there." Jeff flicks my shoulder.

"Five minutes? I was just getting to the good part."

"C'mon. You wanted to be there early to talk to Vince. So we're gonna be there early."

"Much more of that and we'll arrive early, but we'll both be late." I smile. If Jeff only knew why I wanted to talk to Vince. So far, I've managed to keep my mouth shut on the subject but rumours abound.

As we pull into the parking lot, I see the line-up to get in is already around the block. To the best of my knowledge, the doors don't open for another two hours.

"We're here."

"I can see that." I glance around, hoping that we are suddenly not besieged by autograph hounds The parking lot is almost empty, but no sooner do we step out that fifty people magically appear, all clamouring for Jeff's autograph. Me, travelling incognito is part of my appearance so nobody gives me a look. That's fine with me. According to most of the websites, the fans still hate me so what do I care if some punk (Not CM) doesn't want my name.

I grab our luggage while Jeff makes small talk with the fans, many of them sporting similar hair styles. The Imagi-nation is alive and well I can see.

"See you inside?" I mumble.

Jeff nods, continuing to make nice with the fans.

I'm waiting for him in the hall when he finishes with his PR duties. "Are we having fun yet?" I chide him.

"Jealous?" He asks

"Not really. If you want to tire yourself out signing things, far be it from me to convince you otherwise. Anyway, I gotta find Vince."

"I'll stow your gear."

"What gear?" I ask "All the bags are yours." My look for tonight is the same as what I came in. Jeans, white shirt, black do-rag and shades. My hair has refused to grow back with any speed, so I'm never seen without something on my head the odd time I do go in public.

I leave him staring at all the bags, wondering how he's gonna get it all into his locker. It looked like he packed for a week. Maybe he did, what am I his social secretary too?

As soon as I am far enough down the corridor, I suddenly turn into a side corridor and exit the arena. Running as fast as I can, hoping that I can do this without being seen, I enter the audio truck.

"Vince talked to you?" I ask

A nod from the technician. "It's track 12." I hand him a CD I snuck from my collection. "You know what to do."

Another nod. No wonder nobody rarely sees these guys. They're as sociable as I am. Running back into the arena, I barely get back to where I made my turn before I am spotted by some of the guys.

"Back for round three?"

A really rude remark comes to mind, but I check myself. I'm still a rookie, and the last thing I want to do is piss off anybody. I'm sure I could always run to Jeff if things got bad, but wouldn't that help my rep? To be known as a big, strong guy who goes crying to his boyfriend because he can't take a few ribs among friends.

"In a minute, okay. I gotta find Vince."

I easily push past and find his office. "Mr McMahon?"

9:45 p.m.

Here I am, standing at the Gorilla position with Jeff, waiting for the match before us to end. With a huge Samoan Spike, Umaga finishes off yet another opponent. While Umaga and his "victim" work their way backstage, the arena is treated to highlights of the events leading up to this match for the world title. I can't watch, even on the monitors. The thought of what Edge did to me some weeks ago still haunts me.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, this contest is scheduled for one fall and it is for the World Heavyweight Championship!"

Jeff's hopping around like he needs to use the bathroom. I am stoic. It makes for an interesting entrance. He's doing his thing while I am taking it all in, trying not to seem nervous. What I have in my pocket is making it very difficult.

"Introducing first, from Cameron North Carolina, weighing 225 pounds, Jeff Hardy!" Right now I am so thankful that I am not included in the "accompanied to the ring by..." category. How would they introduce me? I try to remember what they did the last time they had a "gay" couple... but it was always just Billy and Chuck.

Jeff does his thing while I look around, giving a "uh-huh, now what?" kind of look to the crowd. Fuck, why am I so nervous? I almost need to go to the can.

"And his opponent..." Did I mention how much I hate rap?

John Cena does his whole Vanilla Ice wannabe thing. The fans love him. I can't stand it. The only thing he's got going from him, in my book, is I've seen him naked and that could make a nun horny.

"You're staring." Jeff whispers

"How can you tell?" I reply.

He looks at me, puppy dog eyes and all.

"At least I'm not drooling." I nudge Jeff and step out of the ring.

10:06 p.m.

The match has been going almost twenty minutes and I'm exhausted. Being a corner man is no fun. The constant shouting of encouragement has made me hoarse and part of me just wants this match to be over so the real fun can begin.

I see John do his five knuckle shuffle routine and my heart starts pounding loud enough I think the whole Pay-Per-View Audience can hear it. Boom! He hits it and I very slightly nod to John. He's ready and so am I. In fact, the only person who isn't ready is Jeff. Let me let you in on a little secret, my buddy has been living the last week and a half thinking he was supposed to put Cena over, when in fact the opposite was true.

According to the script they worked out, John was supposed to whip Jeff into the corner, and go for a clothesline. Jeff would move, Cena would hit the corner and fall back onto the mat. Jeff would then hit his Whisper in the Wind and go for a pin, which Cena would kick out of and the match would continue. Well, John, Vince and I made a little change in that. I can't do it justice, so I'm gonna quote directly from the commentary.

"Five knuckle shuffle from Cena." ((Crowd chants "You can't see me!)) And Hardy's down.

"I think Cena's getting ready to put him away... you can feel it!

"Irish whip... Hardy moved! Looks like Cena hit the turnbuckles hard!"

((Jeff mounts the top ropes and flies... I swear to you, the guy floats... are we sure he weighs 225?))

"Swanton! Swanton! The cover... one... two... three!"

This is where the fun begins. As our referee slaps the mat for the third time, Jeff gets this glassy stare in his eyes. I think he thinks he screwed up. In fact, I know he does 'coz he's asking the ref what happened. I think the ref says something like "You Won!"

Around the same time that Lillian says "Here is your winner and NEW World Heavyweight Champion... Jeff Hardy!" it sinks in. If you've ever seen someone win a new car on "The Price Is Right", multiply that by ten and you have Jeff's reaction.

With my heart pounding even more, I jump in the ring to celebrate with Jeff... I have to get him facing away from me for my plan to work, so I suggest he do his "climb-the-turnbuckles-funny-hand-gesture" pose.

Right in the middle of his pose, his music cuts and is replaced with the song I'd given the audio guys earlier.

The wise man said just walk this way

To the dawn of the light

The wind will blow into your face

As the years pass you by

Hear this voice from deep inside

Its the call of your heart

Close your eyes and your will find

The passage out of the dark.

I know Jeff knows the song, hell I've played it enough at our house. He jumps off the turnbuckle, like "What the..." (as if winning the title isn't what the... enough), and I swear to you the kid looks like he's having a coronary. He decides to finally turn around and there I am... on my knee in the middle of the ring, with a small box in my hand. The song is still playing, so I know I don't need to say anything... I just open the box.

The wise man said just find your place

In the eye of the storm

Seek the roses along the way

Just beware of the thorns

Here I am

Will you send me an angel

Here I am

In the land of the morning star

At "Here I am", I open the box. It cost me three months salary, but it was worth it. I wanted Jeff to know exactly how I felt about him.

The wise man said just raise your hand

And reach out for the spell

Find the door to the promised land

Just believe in yourself

Hear this voice from deep inside

Its the call of your heart

Close your eyes and your will find

The way out of the dark

Instead of a formal proposal, I sing the chorus to him... I don't know how Jeff took it, but half the crowd started crying. He's dropped the belt in the meantime so, hoping it's not too small, I put the ring on his finger.

"If this doesn't stop the killer chant, nothing will." I think.

I'm waiting for a reply. While I wait, I stand up, and my mind is racing, hoping that this isn't an overload for him.

"Well?" I raise an eyebrow.

I still can't believe Jeff's reply.

**THE END**

Oh, by the way, I wrestle as Eric Hardy now.

(The song is "Send Me An Angel" by the Scorpions from the 1991 Album "Crazy World" copyright Mercury Records)


End file.
